I Am Quinn's Complete Surprise
by lonely jester
Summary: Everyone knows that Puck goes to a fight club every Saturday night; in fact, Quinn expects him to do something so stupid and masochistic. But who else in the world could possibly be crazy enough to join him?
1. Chapter 1

_First foray into the Glee fandom. Methinks I'm lost. _

_Story takes place after the 1__st__ season, the summer between sophomore and junior year. One-shot for now. _

_Disclaimer: I don't own a thing, cause I'm broke._

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><p>The first rule of fight club is you don't talk about fight club.<p>

Quinn knows this because Puck told her so.

The club meets Saturday nights in a bar-slash-restaurant that had been shut down years ago for having too many health code violations. Or at least, Quinn thought it had been shut down years ago—but everything is different at night. The rules change; adapt or die.

The second rule of fight club is you don't talk about fight club.

Puck takes her to the shuttered-down bar because something (Beth) hovers between them, a connection that transcends shallow high school relationships and short-lived romances. Also, she has nothing planned for the summer and is bored out of her mind.

But when Quinn follows him into the abandoned space, down into the basement where restless young men wired with muscle are looking to expel their energy in some misguided notion of glory and brawny older men are trying to pound out their frustrations with their disappointing lives, Quinn sees _her._ Rachel Berry, the midget singing extraordinaire who can't shut her mouth or dress fashionably to save her life. Quinn's first impulse is to shout, "What is Berry doing _here_?" but that would break the first and second rules of fight club. Also, Puck's large hand clamping over her mouth stops her.

The third rule is only two guys to a fight.

Or in this case, two people. Actually, make that one and a half, because there's _no way_ Rachel Berry could be considered equal to the hulking guy with a buzzcut staring down at her. She's literally half the size of her opponent, whom Quinn so imaginatively dubs Buzzcut.

The fourth rule is one fight at a time.

They're surrounded by a circle of jeering, cheering men. Two contenders, sizing each other up; Quinn has never seen Rachel Berry other than confident, and tonight is no exception. She looks unafraid, fists held loosely in front, eyes on her opponent as he shuffles his feet, looking antsy.

Quinn hits Puck's arm and hisses, "Do something! She's going to get killed!" At Puck's curious look, she amends, "Not that I care, or anything, but I really don't want to be a witness to murder."

Puck shakes his head. "She's fine. Just watch and enjoy the show."

And so Quinn does.

The fifth rule is to fight without shirts or shoes.

Quinn can't help but notice that Rachel Berry—the annoying loudmouth who was never seen as attractive by _anyone_—actually has a _very_ nice body underneath her argyle sweaters. The small girl is in a black sports bra and shorts, bobbing and weaving around Buzzcut. She knows—from Rachel's long-winded rants during Glee club—that the brunette took dancing and singing and whatever else lessons since she was three months old, but from the way Rachel slams her palm into Buzzcut's throat, she also apparently takes martial arts lessons, too.

The sixth rule is that fights go on as long as they have to.

Quinn flinches when Buzzcut whirls around in a sudden burst of energy and slams his fist into Rachel's jaw. Rachel is flung to the ground from the sheer force, but she quickly rolls onto her stomach and picks herself up. The crowd goes wild.

"How is she still conscious?" Quinn hisses to Puck. The mohawked boy shrugs, looking impressed by his "fellow Jew."

Quinn watches with wide eyes as Rachel snaps into a spin kick that connects with Buzzcut's ribs, causing him to bend over in pain. An elbow to the temple brings him down, a knee quickly placed on a pressure point in his arm. Rachel lets all her body weight slam into Buzzcut's pressure point, and the man grits his teeth in pain until Quinn's sure his teeth will break. Buzzcut stretches out his other arm and taps the ground twice. Immediately, Rachel is off of him and holding out a hand to help Buzzcut up before taking a dramatic bow to an adoring crowd. Well, at least that was typical Berry behavior.

Quinn's jaw drops. "What was that?"

Puck smiles proudly. "That was Berry kicking his ass. I told you she could take care of herself—Rachel's one of the best here."

"The tapping thing?"

"If someone says stop, goes limp, or taps out, the fight is over. Rachel has never given up a fight yet."

"How come she never did _that_ to anyone who slushied her?"

Puck shrugs. "I don't know. With great power comes great responsibility, or some shit like that."

"Are you crazy? She's nearly half the size of everyone here!" Quinn hisses.

"Nah. Some guys are pretty shrimpy—and there are a couple other girls, too. Santana's only got a few inches on Rachel."

Quinn chokes. "_Santana_ comes here?" Actually, that's not too surprising.

Puck laughs. "That girl is vicious. She uses her nails, you know?" He mimes scratching his face. "Bloody streaks down both cheeks, usually. I mean, I like my women rough, but Santana is almost too much. She's ten times worse on days when Brittany decides to fight."

Now Quinn knows she's dreaming. "Pinch me."

Puck wiggles his eyebrows. "I can do a lot more than that, baby mama—"

"_Don't_ call me that."

Quinn vaguely notices another fight has begun, but her gaze is focused on Rachel. The petite brunette is scanning the crowd, seemingly searching for someone, when their eyes connect. Rachel immediately scowls, and Quinn is taken aback by the anger in those dark eyes—the last time she saw Rachel, the girl had given her a huge smile and wished her a good summer before riding into the sunset with Finn.

Quinn keeps her eyes locked on Rachel as the brunette heads toward them. Rachel eventually manages to squeeze through the crowd, giving Quinn a terse nod before glaring up at Puck. "Noah, why did you bring _her_?"

Quinn blinks, offended. "I have a name, RuPaul."

Rachel frowns at her. "As do I, _Quinn_. I repeat, Noah, why did you bring her here?"

"Excuse me, but I have as much a right to be here as you do," Quinn bites back.

Rachel looks at her darkly. "Then I assume you know the rules?" Puck looks nervous.

Quinn scoffs. "Of course I do."

Rachel nods. "Good. Then you know that if this is your first night at fight club, you have to fight."

"Of course I knew—" Quinn's breath hitches. "Wait, I have to _what_?"

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><p><em>The first rule of Glee club is you don't sing about Glee club.<em>

_The second rule of Glee club is you don't sing about Glee club. _

_The third rule of Glee club is only two people in a diva-off. _

_The fourth rule is only one song at a time (unless, of course, it's a mash-up.)_

_The fifth rule is to sing at competitions without any planning beforehand. _

_The sixth rule is that songs will go as long as they have to—unless you are Tina Cohen-Chang. _

_The last rule is that you will review after reading! (Well, it's more of a suggestion than a rule, really.) _


	2. Chapter 2

_Time to tie up loose ends. Every story has an ending. This one does, too, and this is it, unless a better one comes along._

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><p>Quinn stares at Rachel. "You can't be serious. You want me to fight," she gestures to the man getting his face pounded in, "Like that?"<p>

Rachel sniffs. "I expected something with less brutality and more finesse from you, but yes, that is basically the requirement."

"No way. No _freaking_ way."

Puck hesitates. "Jewbabe, maybe this isn't such a good idea—"

"Don't call me that, Noah!"

"Well, don't call me Noah here! The Puckster's gotta keep up his fine badass reputation."

Quinn is irritated by the way they fall into easy banter. She doesn't need Puck standing up for her against Rachel Berry, of all people, and since when were Puck and Berry best friends forever? Still, she's not going to fight because she's, you know, _sane._ "I'm not going to hit you, Berry," Quinn snaps.

Puck laughs. "Trust me Quinn, you don't want to fight Rachel. She's like a mini Muhammad Ali."

"I believe the phrase is float like a butterfly, sting like a bee?" Rachel cocks her head.

Quinn's eyes narrow. She does not like this obnoxiously cocky Rachel Berry—although truthfully, the only difference between this one and the old one is that New Rachel throws punches. She uses her most intimidating glare, but the shorter girl is woefully unaffected.

"I don't want to look like a domestic abuse victim like you do," Quinn tries.

"So don't get hit," Rachel says condescendingly.

"That's easy for you to say. Your dwarf stature makes it harder for people to hit you—believe me, I've tried." She frowns when Rachel looks at her contemplatively. "What?"

"Saint Fabray, the All-American wonder girl," Rachel says sneeringly. "Were your parents as surprised with your Immaculate Conception as everyone else was? Oh wait, my mistake—it wasn't an Immaculate Conception, it was you being a hypocrite. Teenage mother, alcoholic parents—just like every other white trash stereotype, isn't it?"

Quinn is taken aback by Rachel's uncharacteristic cruelness. Her shock transforms into white-hot anger, the fatal Fabray temper coming into play, hands curling into fists. "Shut up, Berry," she warns.

A mocking smile crosses Rachel's face. "You're not going to fight tonight. You know why? Because you have never once stood up for yourself, Quinn Fabray." Rachel pauses, goes for the jugular. "I mean, you threw away your own _daughter_. What kind of mother does that?" Bitterness tinges her last words.

Quinn literally sees red, can barely breathe due to the rage built up in her chest. She lunges for the shorter girl with a fist drawn back—it was mostly an instinctive reaction, to hurt Rachel as much as she was hurting right now. She didn't really expect her fist to actually connect—after all, Berry took down a grown-ass man just minutes ago—so when there's a solid _thwack_ and Rachel reels backwards, Quinn is probably more shocked than the other girl is.

Her first instinct is to apologize—she didn't mean to turn into her father, physically lashing out in anger. "I am so sorry!"

Rachel's cheekbone is red and swollen, but the brunette either doesn't notice or doesn't care. "You really are _sorry_, aren't you, Quinn? It's pathetic how high school will be the pinnacle of your mediocre life."

Remorse evolves into anger. "Berry, don't push me—"

"You're appallingly talented at manipulating others to your benefit. I can see you growing into Terri Schuester, using a baby to chain another idiot to you. Who knows, maybe you'll even keep that kid—"

This time, Quinn's tackle sends both girls to the floor. Quinn rolls over on top of Rachel and demands, "Take it back." She doesn't know why, but she needs her to take it back, this girl who sat next to her in the hallway with empathetic dark chocolate eyes when she was pregnant and is now sneering up at her with a bruise forming around one of the same dark chocolate eyes—

"No." Rachel rears up to head-butt Quinn in the mouth, and Quinn involuntarily loosens her grip to clutch at the sudden flood of blood in her mouth because fucking ouch that hurt—

The next thing she knows, she's being jerked up by the collar and hauled up the stairs. She twists her neck to see the perpetrator is a brawny, bearded man with tattoos up and down his arms and wisely decides to remain silent. His other hand is clamped around Rachel's arm, and Quinn feels vindicated at seeing the shorter brunette suffering the same indignity of being dragged around like a sack of potatoes.

The man literally tosses them out the door into the parking lot. "Come back when you've decided to follow the rules," he growls out before returning inside. Puck casually walks out a second later with the most placid expression she's ever seen on him, and what the hell had he been doing when she and Rachel were in an honest-to-god fistfight?

Puck looks at Rachel. "Mickey says you're banned for a week, babe. Tough break."

Rachel sighs, and at Quinn's nonplussed expression, recites, "The fourth rule is only one fight at a time. They're very strict about enforcing rules here."

Right, the fight. Quinn jumps to her feet and puts up her fists. She's never been in a serious fight before, but like hell she's going to let Rachel know that. Rachel smirks from where she's sitting on the asphalt. "What are you doing, Quinn?"

Adrenaline is coursing through Quinn's veins and she's jumpy, more energetic than she's been in a while. "Get up, Berry, we're not finished."

"I think one black eye is more than enough for me, thanks," Rachel says sardonically.

"Rachel, you don't get to say what you said and get away with it." Quinn swallows to get rid of the metallic taste of blood, but the cut on her bottom lip still throbs in a fast tempo.

Rachel looks at her with those dark chocolate eyes and laughs once. The black eye that's forming makes her look like a one-eyed raccoon. "You're feeling the rush now, aren't you?"

"What rush?" Quinn denies, but the endorphins in her brain are working at full-speed and demanding that the energy be expelled somewhere, somehow—

She tenses up when Rachel stands up and approaches unnervingly close to her face. "What are you—" She flinches when Rachel reaches out and presses hard on the cut on her lip. "Ow!"

Rachel steps back and beams at her. "Hurts, doesn't it?"

"You don't have to look so happy about it," Quinn grumbles. She licks the blood away from the reopened cut and can taste the salt from Rachel's finger mingle with the copper of her blood.

"But you feel it," Rachel insists. "It's a reminder that you're still alive."

"Are you a masochist?" Quinn eyes her. That might explain how the brunette doesn't seem affected at all by all the taunts and slushies during the school year.

"No, but it's a cathartic experience. I don't advocate violence, but sometimes, when you're just sick of the selfishness and the hypocrisy and the bullshit life throws at you, you want to say a giant 'fuck you' back and play by your own rules. You might get the crap kicked out of you in the process, but kicking the crap out of someone else? You feel invincible, Quinn. For once, you have control over something—even your own pain."

"And that solves everything?" Quinn asks skeptically. "That's the answer to life, the universe, and everything?"

"No, but it makes you feel better." The bitterness is back, the windows to expressive brown eyes now shuttered. Rachel looks to Puck. Silent communication passes between them before Puck turns to Quinn. "C'mon, I'll take you home."

"What about you?" Quinn directs to Rachel, who shrugs and doesn't respond. Quinn rolls her eyes, decidedly unnerved by this newly silent Rachel Berry, and gets into Puck's pickup truck. As Puck is pulling away, Rachel calls out, "And Quinn, you know as well as I do that the answer to life, the universe, and everything is 42!"

Quinn smiles at that against her will and stares at Rachel's figure receding in the side mirror until she's completely out of sight. "Why did she say all that?" She asks quietly in the silence.

Puck immediately knows what she's referring to. "Rachel? She wanted you to hit her."

"Is she insane?"

"Probably. All I know is she did the same thing to me the first time, and I almost punched her." At Quinn's reproachful look, he quickly insists, "I said 'almost'! Puckasaurus doesn't hit girls, no matter what. Unless they're trying to kill me or some shit like that."

Quinn rolls her eyes. The truck pulls up in front of her house and she gets out before turning to look at him through the window. "Why'd you take me there tonight, Puck?"

Puck shrugs. "Can't have gone through what you have and _not_ be pissed off as fuck, Quinn. We've all got issues we're working on." He gestures at her lip and says, "Make sure you put some ice on that, or it'll swell." And for two seconds, Quinn thinks about what a good father he would have been to Beth. She steps back and watches him drive off before turning and entering her house as silently as possible.

It's not surprising to see her mother passed out on the sofa, a half-empty bottle of scotch on the coffee table. Quinn can smell the booze from where she's standing—Judy Fabray is going to have a hell of a hangover tomorrow morning. She goes to the bathroom and returns with two aspirin and a glass of water, placing them next to the scotch. She studies her mother's pathetically curled up form and suddenly feels a rush of loathing for every person who makes a girl feel inadequate enough to fuck the first boy she sees; for every person who turns their back and judges instead of helping; for every Stepford housewife who can't live her own life and doesn't know how to cope without alcohol; for every hypocritical, lying, cheating, son-of-a-bitch bastard father who only loves conditionally; for everything and everyone.

Quinn bites her lip and lets the blood wash over her tongue. Pissed off as fuck, indeed.

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><p><em>I would like 42 reviews, because that's the answer to life, the universe, and everything.<em>

_Happy holidays! This joyful time of year when we celebrate the epitome of consumerism is truly magical. Dear Santa, I actually want coal this year, because the cost of heating is through the roof. Love, Your Friendly Neighborhood Cynic. _


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